


Bad Thoughts

by Measured_Words



Category: Adventure World (game), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Animal Play, Beating, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Humiliation, Married Couple, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Fantasy, Tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had cherished memories of the one time she had freely given herself to him, shyly exploring his body as he'd searched out all the secrets to hers.  They gave life to his imagination, and tonight especially he yearned for it.  He closed his eyes, but he couldn't stop thinking about the joy of fucking her, of being desired, as a man.  He ached with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Thoughts

It had become Vedran's habit to pay a visit to his wife's bedroom a day or so after he returned from any trip. He wasn't sure why - there was never anything to distinguish the visits. In fact, as she had grown to expect them, he often found Jacinthe at her most creative, which was rarely to his benefit. She had been expecting him tonight, and had laid out all the pieces of the costume she'd assembled - the collar, ears, and insertable tail. All the things she needed to transform him into something she felt more comfortable with - something she could control.

He'd done his best to perform for her, but it had come to naught this time. Perhaps she'd sensed that he couldn’t quite seem to let go of all the stress of the past few days. It was self-sabotage, perhaps, but he was denied all release tonight. Frustrated herself, in the end she'd ordered him to curl up at the end of her bed, and stay there and behave himself. She didn't elaborate, but he knew what she meant - do nothing to disturb her, including (especially) bringing himself off.

Usually he could suffer through the physical denial and master himself, but his mood was off tonight. He hadn't been able to fully embrace the role she demanded of him earlier, and it was proving more even troublesome now. There was a thread of chaos winding through the world as he knew it, and what he really craved right now was stability - normality. He wanted to come home from a few rough days to someone he could embrace, not someone to whom he offered a formal bow and a chaste kiss on the cheek. Not someone he needed to work up the nerve to come and visit.

It was a pathetic fantasy, but one he hadn't yet been able to wean himself off. He imagined her smiling at him, opening her arms, drawing him close. Kissing him. He had cherished memories of the one time she had freely given herself to him, shyly exploring his body as he'd searched out all the secrets to hers. They'd been good together, he'd thought, but when it was over she'd turned cold and sent him away. But he couldn't give up the memory of the feel of her, the taste, the quiet cries she'd made that time... She'd even talked to him, a little, and she hadn't silenced him. The memories gave life to his imagination, and tonight especially he yearned for it. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't stop thinking about the joy of fucking her, of being desired, as a man. He ached with it. 

The ache brought its own conflicts. Part of him felt he needn't feel ashamed of his desire, that he shouldn't feel guilty about masturbating to the thought of fucking his wife. It seemed like it should be so normal. But he did feel ashamed - mostly that she didn't want him, but also that he was being disobedient. The latter confused and frustrated him even more, but once he'd wrapped a hand around his cock it was easy to let himself believe he couldn't stop. He certainly didn't want to - the pressure in his ass of the tail she made him wear only added greater distraction. Jacinthe was close enough that he could feel her warmth - she was stretched out in a comfortable position, some of her rose-coloured hair loosed from its pins by their earlier session. Her silk sleeping robe was loosely tied, clinging tantalizingly to her naked body.

He had to be quiet, and careful. She wasn't asleep, and Elves in their trances were much more aware of their surroundings. But he needed the risk, needed a little act of rebellion, to try and reclaim some sense, if not of normalcy, of his own control. He watched her regular breathing, the rise and fall of her beautiful breasts, imagining flicking his tongue across her dark nipples, sucking them while he stroked her smooth thighs, sliding his fingers along her sex to hear her delicious little moans. Imagined her feeling slick and ready, asking - no begging _him_ for more, for his fingers, to make her come again and again, to have his cock inside her. No costumes, not collars, no humiliations - just him.

His urgency was growing, and it was harder to remain restrained. The thought that she was so close, and he couldn't just reach out and touch her was maddening. Because of course he could. He could. She was his wife. It wouldn't be the first time she had given herself to him unwillingly. But the unbidden memory of it shocked him, and maybe he recoiled physically from it, because she was sitting up, looking at him with sleepy-eyed suspicion. Already struggling with guilty confusion, Vedran froze, caught in the act and with a terrible thought. His throat went dry and he felt queasy.

"What are you..." Her eyes narrowed before the question was completed, and she curled away from him. "You're disgusting. Get off of my bed. Were you thinking about touching me?"

He tried not to look at her as he slid to the floor, but he was sure she could read the guilt in him. It saturated him. He had thought it, not just of touching her, but worse. It had lived and died in his mind in less than an instant, but that the idea had lived at all surely meant that he was even more terrible than he felt.

Something of his self-horror must have been evident. "You were," she whispered, voice quiet with shock and revulsion. "You do not touch me," she hissed, slipping to her feet on the carpeted stone. She picked up something off her night table - her hairbrush - and swung it at him. It impacted only lightly on his back, but the action startled him and he cringed away from her instinctively. She flung it away in frustration and it skittered across the floor. Her eyes lighted on a more satisfying weapon, and she stalked lightly to the fireplace, taking the poker out of its stand and brandishing it at him. "Repulsive creature!" She didn't raise her voice - she never did, but approached him again where her had prostrated himself, arms covering his head now and braced to receive whatever he deserved from her. "Never touch me! Never!" With this repetition, she brought the flat of the rod down across the top of his ass. He'd been hit harder in training, but never by his wife, and never while having anything stuffed up his ass. She wasn't strong, but the iron was heavy, and he yelped when she swung again. "Unless I command you!"

His second cry was more of a sob, and she let the instrument fall, the clatter muffled by the rug. "Don't cry, my pet..." But he couldn't stop. She knelt beside him, and guided his head into her lap while she stroked his hair. "Please don't cry." There was a hitch in her voice, and she clung more tightly to him than she ever had before, but he was only vaguely aware of these or anything else. Instead it felt as though some dam had broken inside him, emotions flooding out all thought with their release, with a little numb core of his self floating along: isolated, disconnected, out of control. "I should not have... but you were so very bad, so disobedient, and you scared me. I ...punished you harshly, but perhaps it has done you some good, my pet, my dear thing..." He scarcely heard her words, though he took her meaning. He was vile, he had offended her, and any proper sensibility, he deserved her fury, and worse. As he cried the numbness spread, bringing exhaustion with it. As his mind shutdown, it closed on the realization that she was right - he would never touch her again. This could never happen again.


End file.
